


Tear My Skin Open and Hollow A Space Inside

by Emma_Please



Category: Shazam! (2019), Shazam! | Captain Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Billy Batson deserved better than the mother he got, Billy needs a hug and Freddy is stepping up to the mantle, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Billy Batson, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nightmare, Protective Family, Swearing, protective freddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 20:30:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18667819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_Please/pseuds/Emma_Please
Summary: The woman in front of him bleeds away to smoke, vanishing so abruptly that he takes a step back, hand curling closer, hesitant, yes, but not fearful. For a brief moment, he stands there and stares at the spot, tries to see the after the mirage of the woman and wonders why there’s something in the back of his head that screams at him to move, to take another step back because everything about this is unnatural. Naturally, he does neither and instead keeps still.Something lingers in the air, heavy like fog, and the temperature rises subtly, the pressure crushing his throat grows heavier. It surrounds him, hums and haws into his ears and tries to crawl into him and never leave. He’s still standing there, every limb frozen to the ground even when the temperature rises higher and higher. Breathing labored and sweat dampening his skin, he feels like a mess.Billy Batson wakes up screaming.





	Tear My Skin Open and Hollow A Space Inside

**Author's Note:**

> so i just watched that scene from Fresh Prince where Will’s dad walks out again and Will is like “how come he don’t want me, man?” and while I was bawling my eyes out i was like ‘damn son billy prolly felt this’ cause i’d watched shazam like a week before. So here i am vomiting up all my emotions because god damn that movie is actually pretty depressing when you think of how relevant it is to the lives of so many children. also i need to vent my sadness.

The woman in front of him bleeds away to smoke, vanishing so abruptly that he takes a step back, hand curling closer, hesitant, yes, but not fearful. For a brief moment, he stands there and stares at the spot, tries to see the after the mirage of the woman and wonders why there’s something in the back of his head that screams at him to move, to take another step back because everything about this is unnatural. Naturally, he does neither and instead keeps still.

 

Something lingers in the air, heavy like fog, and the temperature rises subtly, the pressure crushing his throat grows heavier. It surrounds him, hums and haws into his ears and tries to crawl into him and never leave. He’s still standing there, every limb frozen to the ground even when the temperature rises higher and higher. Breathing labored and sweat dampening his skin, he feels like a mess. 

 

He wants to step out of his skin, take it off like a suit and walk around without the mask that one has to wear to be deemed acceptable in society. He wants to shed it all, wants to fall to his hands and knees and burrow into the ground until he reaches the core of the Earth, where he’ll sleep, if only to get away from the rising temperature and the thing that has one hand around his throat and one pulled taut through his hair. 

 

The woman reforms again, and her features are a little clearer this time- a little more human than smoke. She steps closer, only a single step, but then she stops and drops something to the ground. 

 

_ What is this? _ She says, and something inside him cracks a little at the dismissive tone of her voice. 

 

And suddenly the fog lifts, gone as swiftly as it had arrived, and he sees her for the first time and thinks,  _ mom.  _

 

_ I’m not your mom, kid.  _ But then the hand is back around his throat, dragging him off somewhere and nothing he does, no matter how hard he thrashes, stops the fog from settling in once more and he’s left choking, screaming,  _ begging.   _

 

He feels like he’s drowning.

 

_ Please please don’t leave me don’t leave me I loved you I looked everywhere for you how could you do this to me how could you hurt me so badly what kind of mother are you…  _

 

Somewhere, a voice breathes into his ear, and he knows what it is before he even has to look. 

 

Billy Batson wakes up screaming. 

* * *

 

Rosa would need more than five pairs of hands to count how many times she’s been woken up from her sleep because of night terrors, whether they be hers or one of the kids. Freddy would have them the most, and Darla the least, but all their nightmare differ; some of them are quieter, more about their prior families or the adoption centers they struggled in. Others would be about monsters but that was mostly Darla than the rest, back when she believed the boogeyman would come to take her and all her favorite stuffed toys as hostage. 

 

But never, never has Rosa woken up to the kind of desperate, horror-filled scream that she wakes to tonight. At first, she thinks someone’s hurt, that something bad has happened, but the screaming settles into her mind and she knows. From the look on Victor’s face, he knows too.

It’s only reaffirmed when the screaming starts to sound more like sobbing the closer they get to the room Freddy and Billy share. 

 

And there Freddy is, on his knees, trying and failing to wake Billy up from whatever ails him so fiercely. There’s a look of such immense frustration and sadness and anger on his face, and Rosa doesn’t understand why until they’re close enough to hear what Billy is sobbing into the floor, probably from where he fell off the top bunk somehow.

 

It’s a litany of begging, of pleading with some nameless figure to not leave him, to just tell him if he wasn’t good enough, and he looks like he’s choking, one hand wrapped around his neck and the other fisted into his hair. He looks so young like this, so heartbroken, that Rosa scoops him up and hold him close enough to press into her heart. He’s fourteen but she can feel the knobs of his spine pressing into her arm and the way he fits so neatly into her hold; even Freddy isn’t as skinny as this. 

 

She rocks back and forth, remembers all those lullabies she learned from shifting from home to home and sings a Spanish one that an elderly woman who had taken her in had once shown her. It’s low, soothing and had made her drop to sleep many times. In front of her, Victor helps Freddy up and herds his out of the room, tucking him close with one arm around his shoulders. The other kids congregate outside of the door, watching worriedly, but Freddy eyes never leave Billy. 

 

Slowly, painfully slowly, he calms down until the sobbing is nothing more than light hiccups and tears slipping down his temples. Billy clasps his hand around her wrist, tight enough to bruise, and she untangles it only to hold it in her own hand, lets him run his finger over her wedding ring and lights pets his hair. There’s a red handprint from where his hand was around his throat, and everything in Rosa wants her to soothe it, to make it better so he won’t hurt any longer, so she does; gently, she stands them up so that he’s on his own two feet, still leaning heavily on her but not being carried anymore, and starts to walk to the bathroom. 

 

None of the other kids are there, probably sitting in the living room where Victor has no doubt gathered them all. The walk to the bathroom leaves them uninterrupted, and when there she wets a cloth with warm water and dabs it around his neck, tries to ease some of the pain he’s unwittingly put himself through. Neither of them speaks because Rosa knows that some things are too raw to speak about and resolves to attempt to discuss this tomorrow. She and Victor need to know if this has happened before if this is something new and what triggered it. 

For now, she wipes his face and fixes him up, aching when he flinches away from her touch. When he’s clean enough, tear-tracks gone and eyes a lighter shade of red than before, she guides him back to bed and presses a kiss to his forehead, tries not to cry at the way he crumbles at the simple gesture of love. 

 

“I’m here,” She whispers and hopes it’s enough.

* * *

 

Rosa’s eyes are sheened with tears with when she walks into the room, and Victor’s hand encloses her smaller one and grips it tight, hoping to soothe the trembling that has taken place. Her lips are pressed so hard together they are whitened, giving her a haunted visage that is only broken when she turns to give the kids a smile, that, while tremulous, is no less genuine than usual. 

 

“Billy is sleeping and I want none of you to bother him right now or in the morning. If he wants to talk then he’ll talk, but we do not pressure him into it.” Rosa’s words are firm, and Victor nods, stationing himself by her side and giving them all a stern look; they’re good kids but sometimes they can push too far, and Victor doesn’t want to come home and find that Billy has vanished again. 

 

None of them protest, although Darla wilts like a flower in a storm and Freddy get this stubborn look on his face like he wants to protest but is trying not to. Pedro, true to his calm nature, nods and places a hand on Darla’s shoulder to lead her out of the room, almost a mirror image to the hands Mary places on Freddy and Eugene’s shoulders. Victor feels such a rush of love for them, for these young kids who have so much compassion; Victor remembers himself at their ages, his anger, and resentment, everything in him waiting to push himself away from the atmosphere and towards space and all its unknowns. 

 

He still has Billy’s raw screaming echoing in his ears, unfiltered, and by the time he and Rosa make it back to their bedroom he’s replayed the image of Billy sobbing into floor enough times to fill up the entirety of mars twice over. Victor reckons he’ll be seeing it some more in his dreams, but that's a thought for another time, and as he’s wont to do, Victor places all his worries to the side and resolves to methodically deal with them later, when he’s calmed Rosa down and the debris has settled down around them.

 

The rest of the night passes by swiftly, uninterrupted save for the barking of their neighbor’s dogs and the ruckus of cars driving by. Billy doesn’t come down for breakfast, which Victor doesn’t blame him for, and as everyone finishes eating he gives them all a look (a silent way of saying ‘I want some time with Billy no one interrupt us just as he’s opening up’)  and makes his way up, passing into the room and heaving down onto the edge of the bunk bed even though it groans ominously at his weight. 

 

Billy’s awake, there’s no doubt about it, but he doesn’t open his eyes until Victor’s got one hand on his face and the other running gently through his hair, smoothing out the knots. Then he opens them up, pins those bright blue eyes on him and doesn’t say a word; for all that Billy is impulsive and brash, there’s something about the look in his eyes that makes him seem so old, so wise to the way of the world that he makes others feel young without having to try. Neither of them says a word, unwilling to break the silence that sits between them, and while Victor continues his soothing motions Billy lifts himself up, until he’s sitting across from Victor, and then, gingerly like he’s afraid, wraps his arms tight around the older man in a tense hug. 

 

Victor stills for a second, can feel how Billy doesn’t breath, and returns the hug with fervor, making sure to curl around the boy he considers his son in an attempt to hide him at his most vulnerable. Billy whispers something into his chest, something Victor can’t make out, and when Billy pulls back he smiles that smile of his, so inexorably sad and content at the same time. It’s a wonderful moment. 

 

Victor doesn’t know why it feels like something in his chest is caving in. 

* * *

 

After Victor leaves, Billy does what he’s good at and runs. He shimmies out the window, down from the tree and bolts it until he’s far away enough that he can turn into Shazam without drawing any of his siblings' attention. It’s hard to breathe, even when he’s flying; even when he’s the freest he’s ever been the stone in his chest grows and grows until it’s dragging him down onto the ground with heaving breaths and two larger than life hands scrambling at the floor. 

 

He doesn’t know what’s happening anymore, why these nightmares are suddenly getting so much worse- why his mother keeps making an appearance and why he can still feel Sivana’s hands on him, shoving his face into the water and never granting him a moment of reprieve. The worst thing is he has everything he’s ever wanted; he has Victor and Rosa and all his siblings, a family, but right now it just feels stifling, and he feels like he’s being ungrateful for all that they are giving him by wanting a moment alone. 

 

It makes him feel like an absolute piece of shit but he can’t keep being torn in half, basking in the love at one moment and then shaming himself for accepting the next. It’s not healthy, he knows it’s not healthy, but he still hasn’t gotten back to Rosa about their offer of therapy. It feels too much like weakness, too much like he’s giving up after all those homeless nights and the days when food was scarce. It shouldn’t, but it does, and the part of Billy that never let anyone in tells him to run away for good because a life of fending for yourself is so much easier than constantly worrying for others, their feelings and their personalities. 

 

He’s calmed down enough now that he can look around and recognize where he is: the roof of his mother’s apartment complex. Exhausted, he changes back, reveling in the feeling of familiar electricity coursing through him, and settles onto the edge of the roof, watching as the clouds creep along the blue skyline, hiding the sun as they go about their way calmly. He wishes he could cruise along there with them, but the thought of flying now, when he’s barely hanging on by a thread, just makes him feel worse. 

 

He doesn’t even think about going down and attempting to talk to his mother again- she made her choice when she left him willingly at that carnival, so eager to live her life she’d given up her son to a harsh world with nary a goodbye. 

 

“You know, you’re not that hard to find,” A says from behind him, and Billy twists around to see Freddy touching down silently, stalking towards him and only slowing down when properly faced with the sorry sight Billy makes. 

 

Billy supposes he probably looks pathetic, what with the way Freddy softens. 

 

* * *

It’s only when Victor comes down from their shared room does Freddy go up, feeling trepidation coursing through his veins because if he knows Billy like he thinks he does, then he’s not going to like what he finds.

 

He’s right, he wishes he wasn’t but he is and there’s nothing left to do about it then stand there in the doorway and let the wave of emotions crash over him; anger and fear and sympathy clawing at him in the way Billy has clawed at his throat last night, desperate and agonized. Freddy understands, or at least he thinks he does, but he yearns for once that Billy would stop running away from them and how much they love him. 

 

And they do, love him that is because when Billy opens up it is hard not to love him. But loving Billy opens up the door to worrying for him fiercely when he becomes despondent, withdrawn, unable to stand love of any degree because of his harsh upbringing. They’ve all been through something in life, Billy’s just happens to make him distrusting of himself and his judgment. 

 

That doesn’t mean they’re going to let him ruin himself, though. 

 

“Victor! Rosa!” Freddy yells, his shout resonating through the house, only broken by the pounding of feet rushing up the stairs. They know, even if they haven’t seen it yet, they know. Freddy can tell from the urgency of their feet, can almost see the flex of their muscles as they bound up the stairs to be met with the sight of what they all suspect. 

 

“What happened?” Victor pushes his way through, takes a quick scope of the room and places his hands on Freddy’s shoulders, looks him the eyes with an urgency Freddy feels every time they go out and hold the lives of others in their hands. “He’s gone?” 

 

“He was gone when I came up but his stuff is still here,” Freddy flicks his eyes to the back-pack sitting in the corner, a hint to the fact that Billy will come back; the other boy is viciously possessive of his effects, probably from time spent homeless with nothing to tie him down but the few scraps of materials he possessed that held sentimental value. 

 

Relief pools into Victors eyes but he nods to Rosa and they make a consecutive decision. “You guys stay here and call us if he comes back, okay? Mary, you’re in charge.” and they’re gone, a whirlwind of protective instincts and worry. 

 

“I know where is,” Freddy announces, already striding forward and out of the room. Mary follows after him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Rosa said we should stay together, Freddy.” 

 

Pedro, who’s been keeping his hands on Darla’s shoulders to comfort her, steps up and lays his hand on Mary’s arm, and it only takes a look at her and then Freddy for them to know what he’s thinking. Mary deliberates it, still stuck in that mode of thinking that she was on back when he was still just a crippled kid with no way of defending himself besides is words and even then those could only do so much. It’s gotten worse these days, after the whole showdown in the carnival, something about it all sparking a protective older sister instinct in Mary that was much milder before. 

 

Finally, she makes her decision, eyes scorching into his soul. “Bring him home, Freddy. “  

 

And he does, or he will, he thinks, closing in on the growing building in front of him, eyes stuck on the sight of a body curled up near the edge, looking so pitifully small against the backdrop of the open sky that stretches on indefinitely, so much greater than all of them. Freddy feels like he should be angry, like he should be pissed off that Billy would rather run away than stick around and let them comfort him like a family is supposed to. On the other hand, though, he gets it; Billy isn’t used to a family, doesn’t know what it means and he’s trying his best, even if his best doesn’t always measure up to other people’s expectations. 

 

“You know, you’re not that hard to find,” Freddy says, touching down and striding forward, reveling in the feeling. He puts on the sternest face he can, tries to emulate Victor after they’ve done something to disappoint him. It doesn’t really work all that well because he softens as soon as Billy turns around, takes one look at his red eyes and curled spine to decide that he’s not going to go all ‘what do you think you’re doing, young man?’ on Billy. 

 

“Do I look half as pathetic as I feel?” Billy asks him, voice hoarse. 

 

“No,” Freddy admits, sitting so that he’s near enough that Billy can rest his head on Freddy’s shoulder with ease if he wished to. Billy doesn’t but he leans in and nudges the older man’s arm with his. “You look fine, well... okay, no you don’t, you look like shit. Still, you don’t look pathetic, just… sad.” 

 

Billy sighs roughly at that, turning back to face the skyline. “Are Victor and Rosa worried?” 

 

“Yeah, but they know you’re coming back.” Freddy turns, crosses his legs and leans forward to stare at Billy like he’s a particularly interesting specimen. “Talk to me, c’mon. Whatever happened to being brothers?” he pokes a finger into Billy’s side to emphasize his words. 

 

His poking fingers draw a smile out of Billy, and Freddy wonders if this is what Mary feels like when she cheers one of them up if being older (if only physically) just births protective instincts in you when you see someone you care about suffering. 

 

“I had a nightmare, last night,” Billy peers up at him from below his eyelashes as Freddy stops himself from saying ‘no shit Sherlock’ because he doesn’t want Billy to clam up again. “It kept getting hotter and hotter and there was this hand on my neck and it was dragging me down. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t even fucking fight back, Freddy. And then my mom was there, and at first, I couldn’t really see her but then she got closer and she… she said ‘i’m not your mom, kid’ and I just…” Billy’s rushing through it, breath escaping in harsh pants and a hand coming up to curl at his chest, like just the gesture will revive his lungs, even out his breathing and fix the rapid pumping of his heart. 

 

Freddy shushes him, doesn’t even think twice before he’s got his arms around the boy and he’s pulling him in until Billy’s face is pressed into his firm chest and his hands are gripping tightly onto the white cloak. “I have you, Billy, I have you. Just let it all out.” 

 

Billy isn’t crying but his shoulders quake and his voice is wrecked as he whispers. “Why didn’t she want me? Why didn’t she love me?” 

 

“I don’t know, Billy. I don’t know, but she’s an idiot for not seeing you and loving you the way she should have.” 

 

Slowly, painfully slowly, the erratic breathing eases out but Billy doesn’t remove himself from Freddy’s embrace like he thought the other boy would. They’re quiet for a long while, content to bask in the aftermath of a hurricane that swept through them so violently. 

 

“Why’d you run?” Freddy asks, voice lowl and soothing and muffled from where his face is buried into Billy’s hair. This should feel awkward, he thinks, but his mind is so preoccupied right now it doesn’t have the energy to spare on irrelevant emotions.

 

“Because you guys give me so much love and I don’t know how to deal with that,” Billy mumbles into his chest, hands looser now than they were before, and with one harsh swipe down his face he pushes himself away so that he’s no longer burrowing into Freddy. “I’m… I’m not used to having people care constantly when no one else gave a shit before.” 

 

“So tell us to back off,” Freddy says, “Tell us to back off and we’ll back off if that’s what you want, okay?” 

 

“It’s not that simple,” Billy argues, still stuck in that frame of mind that he gets into when he’s feeling particularly stubborn. 

 

“Yeah, it is,” Freddy sighs, exasperated. “If you tell us to fuck off, we’ll fuck off. Although, you probably shouldn’t say it like that in front of Darla because Rosa will be pissed.” 

 

That startles a laugh out of Billy, and even though it’s wet and weak from all that he’s been through, it’s a victory all the same. 

 

They’ll get better, he thinks, Billy’s face buried into his shoulder while Freddy flies them home. It won’t get better quickly or easily, but if they keep at it with enough energy progress will show. After all, Freddy’s already set up the foundation. 


End file.
